


Alive

by HeadLadyInquisitor



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Life-Affirming Sex, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-10 00:47:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4370834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeadLadyInquisitor/pseuds/HeadLadyInquisitor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She is alive, she knows this, on some level. Nothing here indicates that she is dreaming, lost in the Fade, and yet, she cannot fully believe it. After all that she’s been through, it feels nothing less than impossible. She needs more. She needs to feel it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alive

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I’ve never posted smut before, and this is some pretty feels-y smut at that so.. I’m nervous! Very. But I would very much appreciate feedback. Btw, this is an ambiguous lady!Inquisitor rather than my OC, so have fun imagining whoever you like. :)
> 
> Also: I have a tendency to sort of have a musical “aesthetic” in mind when I write. If you’re the least bit interested, the songs for this piece are “Colorblind” by Counting Crows, “Breathe Me” by Sia, and “Believe” by Mumford and Sons.

She’s done it. 

After three long years working herself to the bone, fighting until she can barely stand, shoving her own needs to the side for the greater good, kissing the ass of nearly every noble in Thedas despite the fact that _they should be kissing hers because without her they would be doomed_ …

Corypheus is dead. The world is… safe. She and those she cares for have made it out of this alive.

She greets the crowd at Skyhold, smiles, graciously accepts the praise and admiration of the hundreds gathered who owe her and the Inquisition no less than their lives, but, truth be told, she is in a daze.

She _is_ alive, she knows this, on some level. Nothing here indicates that she is dreaming, lost in the Fade, and yet, she cannot fully believe it. After all that she’s been through, it feels nothing less than impossible. She needs more. She needs to _feel_ it.

* * *

She pulls her Commander into her quarters and wastes not one second before pouncing on him, arms wrapped around his neck, lips crashing into his as if she is drowning and he is her oxygen. He returns her fervor, grateful nearly to tears that she has come back. One arm encircles her waist, the other deftly pulls the pins from her hair, letting it fall over her shoulders as he lets his fingers get utterly lost in the waves. He glides his tongue over her lower lip and relishes the shaky sigh that greets him. _She is alive._

Her hands move to the buckles holding his armor in place, but her practice at undoing them does nothing to stay the desperate trembling in her fingers. He grasps one of her hands and pulls himself away from her lips, a question in his eyes.

“ _Skin_ ,” she insists breathlessly.

He understands.

He pulls her into another kiss, but releases her waist to work on the armor himself. Once he is free, he helps her shaking hands with her own. Only tunics and leather trousers remain, and he lifts her legs around his waist to carry her up the stairs. He doesn’t dare break contact with her for even a moment. He has been on the edge of the abyss before, too. He knows what she needs.

He gently lays them both on her bed and her hands crawl beneath his linen tunic, eager to remove every barrier keeping them apart. He ducks his head to help, then goes to work on her clasps, trailing his lips down her torso as more of her skin is revealed. A soft, desperate moan: “ _Cullen._ ”

It takes mere moments for all cloth and leather to be discarded on the floor. He covers her body with his, answering her desperate prayer. A gentle nudge and a whine from her and he rolls them over, swapping places. She immerses herself in the sensation of his warm skin on hers - rough, firm, scarred, but soft in places that only she knows. Her legs entwine with his, wrapped tight, as if to trap him beneath her. One hand grips his and the other wraps around to his back, scratching lightly. She lays kisses on his chest and breathes in his scent. For his part, he tenderly strokes her hair, whispering affirmations of his love and devotion. His erection presses against her stomach, but he is patient. She needs to know that he is real, that she is real, that they are _alive_.

The night sky outside gives no hints as to whether they have spent long hours or mere minutes tangled together. Neither sees why they should ever move.

Breathing steadies and her head tilts up. She breathes his name again, calmer this time. He responds in kind and captures her lips. Their kiss is slower, quieter, but no less urgent. She slides up, taking his face in both hands, pulling him in deeper. His arms wrap around her and he shivers as her slick core slides over his shaft. He starts to harden again, his previous arousal lost to the long stillness. She breaks the kiss and brushes a stray curl back on his head. She meets his eyes and words fail her, but she doesn’t need them. Not now. Not with him. He understands. He rolls his hips into her, slowly, watching for her reaction. Her head rolls back with a soft cry, and her fingers move to grip his shoulders. He slides a hand around to her breast, grazing a nipple before traveling to the apex of her thighs. “ _Please_ ,” she gasps as she lowers her lips to his neck, kissing, licking, nibbling.

His fingers make slow, smooth circles around her entrance, lingering on the bundle of nerves that makes her breath hitch every time. Her nipples graze over his chest with each arch of her back, and the light, exquisite contact pulls moans from both of them. He runs his free hand up into her hair to gently guide her away from his neck. Still stroking her folds, he presses her forehead to his. He would often take a moment such as this to tell her he loved her, but tonight, that feels… utterly insufficient. Instead, he leans forward and places soft, adoring kisses on her lips, her forehead, her nose, her jaw — so tenderly that tears prick the corners of her eyes. It wasn’t so long ago that she didn’t believe feelings like these would ever be within her grasp.

When his lips meet hers again, she presses into him with renewed ardency. She wraps one arm around his neck, and the other travels down, behind her back, to grip him where he is nestled between her legs. He gasps and bucks his hips at her touch before sliding two fingers into her core. His name falls from her lips as she buries her face in the crook of his neck. She strokes his shaft, panting and reaching out with her lips and tongue to whatever skin she can touch, while he moves his fingers within her, finding his target with practiced ease.

But she grows impatient — she needs him to fill her, to make her feel whole after having pieces chipped away for so long. “Love,” she breathes, “I need—“ She is cut off by an involuntary whimper as he removes his fingers from her and moves to grip her hips. She braces one hand on the bed and he helps to position her over him, her other hand still guiding him. Sensing her need, he does not hesitate as he brings her down to take him in. Her eyes flutter closed and a low whine rises in her throat as she bears down gently, trying to envelope him as much as she possibly can. “ _Cullen_ ,” she cries softly, feeling him pressing against her every wall.

His eyes have also fallen shut, as much as he wants to watch her. She is _warm_ , and tight, and she feels like home to him. They are still for a moment, then their eyes open at nearly the same time. She _smiles_ , and the heat from where they have joined rushes through him. His lips curl upward and he meets her gaze — just _brimming_ with love — with one of his own. He reaches up to cradle the back of her neck and kisses her as he slowly rolls his hips up into her. She hums with pleasure at the fullness and moves with him. They set a pace together, as if of one mind, and she lowers her body to his, seeking out his skin once again. He tucks her head down next to his and holds her close, wrapped in his embrace. With his lips to her ear he murmurs her name, tells her how good she feels, how he loves to be this close to her. He feels her smile again through her pants and gasps.

They continue this way, in no hurry for their lovemaking to end, as for once, they have all the time in the world. For once, their wants and desires can come first. But he craves to bring her to her bliss, his own merely an afterthought in his mind. He increases their pace and moves one hand to her breast, massaging and pulling in all the ways he knows will heighten her pleasure. He feels her movements becoming less controlled, her breathing more erratic, her moans louder and higher in pitch. Their position provides just the friction she needs and he is drowned by his desire to bring her to her peak. He digs his fingertips into her skin and whispers, breath hot in her ear, “Yes, love, _come for me_.”

His name rips from her throat in a cry, and she braces her hands on his chest to ride him with renewed vigor. Each delicious thrust is punctuated by their unbridled moans, hisses, cries of, “ _Yes_ ,” and, “ _More_ ,” thoughts of discretion entirely absent from their lust-addled minds. For what on earth could possibly matter more than this intoxicating, intimate connection that they share? Somewhere in her consciousness she wonders whether she will ever achieve this kind of exquisite high again in her life, but in a split second the thought is buried by the sheer, life-affirming ecstasy of the moment.

“ _Cullen!_ ” she screams as her orgasm floods her senses. She squeezes, hot and tight around him, and the sight of her, the sound of her, the feel of her is more than he can bear. He tries to warn her of his own end, but she cannot hear him as she continues to meet his thrusts, nothing existing but the achingly perfect sensation of him inside of her. Finally, a ragged groan rises from his throat as he empties into her.

As one, they collapse on the mattress, utterly spent, panting, sticky with sweat and sex. His hand moves to stroke her hair while they catch their breath, gradually returning to their forgotten reality. He can tell that she is calmer now, her urgent need sated. As if she can read his thoughts, she tilts her head up and reaches to stroke his jaw. “Cullen,” she says softly, simply, “I’m glad you’re here.”

A grin spreads across his face and he wraps his arms around her neck to plant a kiss on her forehead. “I’m glad we’re _both_ here,” he replies before meeting her lips again. “ _Alive_.”


End file.
